


Mild Obsessions of Forbidden Workplace Romance

by felinefemme



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pining, Songfic, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1691099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefemme/pseuds/felinefemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey gang, it’s a songfic, and it’s “Need You Now”.  Fairly obvious setup, consider this a Season 1-ish fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dana Scully sighed, the photos from their latest case lying all over the coffee table. No, scratch that, photos from various cases are scattered all over the place. She’d made the mistake of making a reference to a previous case while writing her current report, and started sifting through the pictures. And rather than look for the reference, the redhead found herself looking for her partner in blurry silhouettes or shadows, since these were mostly crime scene or case photos, nothing personal. Then again, how on earth would she take a picture of Fox Mulder without seeming even more suspicious than the criminals they investigated? She groaned, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling for answers to questions that sound silly and immature, even to her.

How is it that he’s gotten under her skin, slipped past her defenses and always on her mind in the past couple of years? Granted, he’s her partner, of course she sees him all the time at work, that’s completely understandable. And yes, he’s not just easy on the eyes, but smart and funny, too, a lethal combination for her, heart-wise. She shook her head. At least he’s not married, she tells herself, but knows that even without that complication, workplace romances are hard. Then again, he’s never shown himself to be interested in her romantically, although he enjoys playing the perv. Considering she grew up a Navy brat with two older brothers and went to med school, his peccadilloes are nothing. But as much as he likes cracking jokes at his own expense or on the cases, it’s nothing compared to the way he likes to crack her mind wide open with his insane theories and harebrained hypotheses. And yes, part of what gets under her skin is that he’s usually right, and that it’s her scientific evidence that backs him up.

And why can’t she fall for someone normal? Someone who doesn’t chase after UFOs and little green men (or grays, as he constantly corrects her), someone who thinks that legends and myths are just that, and someone who believes that their sister was kidnapped and killed in the ordinary sense, not taken by aliens. Scully closed her eyes, but all she can see is a clear picture of the illogical, infuriating, and occasionally insightful Fox Mulder. Dammit.

She knows she should be thinking of Rob, or Mr. “Glengarry Ross” (and mentally shudders), or even Ethan when it comes to dates, not Mulder. And she’s even calling him by his last name automatically, what the hell’s up with that? Like “Fox” is such a horrible name or something? It’s not like his parents named him “Morton” or “Sue” or “Archibald” or the like. Besides, it kind of fits him.

“And we have officially entered the shallow end of the pool,” Scully chuckled mirthlessly. “Why am I thinking so much about him? It’s not like he thinks about me, he’s got enough UFO magazines and conspiracy to keep him busy, if not, there’s always his porn.” And she makes a face before attempting to tidy up the living room, making a concerted effort to not try to look for Mulder on the edges of the photos. She knocks over the cordless phone and sighs. “Stupid phone,” she mutters, as if that would shame the inanimate object into jumping back onto its stand, but of course, it doesn’t happen.

Scully finds herself just kneeling there, the phone in one hand and a stack of photos in the other, and staring at the phone. “He’s not going to answer,” she says, as her thumb starts to hit a familiar string of numbers, “he’s probably chasing after his own shadow or something.” But she continues to dial out, subconsciously hoping to scratch that itch and get rid of it for good.


	2. Chapter 2

Fox Mulder is finding that hanging out with Jack and Jim aren’t helping any tonight. He’s finished with his case report earlier that afternoon, went home and called a couple of 900 numbers, but they didn’t do anything for him. Then he tried his girlie magazines, but to his mortification, all they did was remind him of his hot redheaded partner. And it’s only when he actually thought of Scully instead of the random actresses with the wigs, then he got hard, thinking of how she’d feel, how she’d scream under him, over him, on him…

And those are the kinds of things that lead to trouble, he told himself, taking in a long, cold shower. After all, his last girlfriend at work dumped him for greener pastures and a step up and out rather than staying in the X-Files, and he has no illusions Dana Scully will do the same, especially for a woman as intelligent and capable as she is. Hell, she’s not only a medical doctor, but has a background in physics, and with her FBI training, she could easily take over a university, and, if she were ambitious enough, a country. Instead, she’s stuck in the basement with him. And yet, she lights the place up in her no-nonsense business clothes, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes as she shoots a retort to every stupid wisecrack he makes and pulls off her science mojo like nobody’s business.

That’s something else that drives him nuts, her devotion to her science. He can’t deny that it has its place, especially since it’s helped to save his skin on a case more than once. At the same time, that crucifix she’s started to wear after Tooms stole her necklace is equally compelling, an interesting juxtaposition of rational mind with a religious faith she has yet to admit. That, along with other things, give him hope that some day, perhaps in the future, she’ll have more of an open mind about things, and not just the X-Files.

“You know, there are times I believe in God, too,” Mulder tells the bartender, who doesn’t look astounded at the statement. “I believe God made special people, like someone who’s super-smart, and super-hot, and takes what I give her and throws it right back. I mean, aside from alien conspiracies who could create synthetic humans or scientists in a conspiracy with said aliens to develop human-alien hybrids for purposes unknown, who else would make such an awesome woman?” And, ignoring the bartender’s incredulous look, he picks up the shot glass and downs the Jack Daniels quickly, letting it burn down his throat and hopefully burn away the mirages of Scully walking into the dimly-lit DC dive. He waves at the bartender for another round, but the bartender shakes his head, his eyes still wide.

Sighing, Mulder pulls out his cell, hitting the speed dial for Scully. The least she could do is get out of his head and into this bar. Or maybe she could give him a ride home, since it seems he hasn’t just imagined seeing her this evening, he’s also seeing the world tilt sideways. Or maybe it’s straight and he’s sideways, he’s not quite sure.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, good,” Scully sighs with relief when she gets a busy signal, and hits the off button before replacing the cordless phone back on its stand. Then she sits on the floor, her knees up to her chest, and closes her eyes. That was close, she thinks, she nearly did something stupid and adolescent.

Meanwhile, at the bar, someone is sliding off their barstool, much to the bartender’s amusement. “Aw, shit,” Mulder groaned when he got a busy signal. Maybe she’s not at home. Maybe she’s out with some guy who’s smart and handsome and leaps over tall buildings in a single bound. And then he hits another number on his speed dial, not holding much hope this will get any answer either.

Scully jumps, her eyes wide with surprise as her cell phone chirps. “Scully,” she says automatically.

“SCULLY!” Mulder shouts on the other end, relieved for a number of reasons. “HI!”

The redhead squints, then holds her phone away from her ear. “Mulder, what’s wrong? Why are you yelling?”

“YELLING? I’M NOT--,” and stops when he sees the bartender covering his ears, while the few other customers are yelling at him to shut up. Oh, guess I was yelling, Mulder smiles sheepishly, then lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “I’m not yelling, I’m drunk.”

“Uh-huh,” Scully sighs, an “oh brother” look on her face replacing the squint. “Just tell me where you are, I’ll pick you up.”

“That’s not a pick-up line,” Mulder argues in his intoxicated state. “You have to say, ‘I bet your legs are tired, because you’ve been running through my mind all night’.”

If you only knew, Scully thinks, but laughs aloud. “Mulder, give me the name of the bar, and I promise not to blackmail you in the morning.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, but dutifully gives her the bar name. And like magic, she showed up after he hung up. “Wow, that was fast,” Mulder comments. “Did you fly over?”

She gives him a strange look and attempts to straighten his posture on the barstool. “Mulder, it took me over half an hour, part of which was avoiding drunk people in the middle of the street trying to flag down cabs.” The bartender studiously avoided looking at them at this statement. Then she put a finger in front of his face. “Can you track my finger with your eyes?”

Mulder looks at her strangely. “Is that a new superpower?”

Scully closes her eyes, praying for strength not to kill him. “Mulder, let’s go home,” she says once she opens her eyes, starting to haul him to his feet.

His face is uncomfortably close to hers as he slides off the stool and staggers onto her shoulders gracelessly. “Are we gonna play house?” he grins.

She wrinkles her nose at the whiskey breath powerful enough to take paint off a car. “Mulder, shut up and let’s go.”

“Wait, I gotta pay,” he says, pulling out his wallet. The bartender takes nearly everything inside, minus the ID and video store cards. “Damn,” he breathes in wonder.

Scully, however, is less impressed. “Come on,” she says, and manages to steer him to her car, get him buckled up, and deposited in front of his apartment without passing out from the extreme alcohol content of her partner’s breath. “Got your keys?”

Mulder nods, and after a brief rummaging through his pockets, pulls them out. “Yep.”

“Okay, in you go,” Scully says briskly, pushing him in once he opens the door. She makes her way to the kitchen and rummages around the pitifully bare refrigerator. No sports drinks to alleviate the hangover, but he’s got orange juice, and after taking a sniff, determines it’s still okay. She pours a glass and hands it to Mulder, who looks confused. “Drink this,” she orders.

He blinks, then does so, downing the contents in several chugs. “Are you staying over?” he asks, his eyes still comically wide as she takes the glass from him.

She smiles a little before shaking her head, putting the glass in the sink. “Just wanted to make sure you’d be okay in the morning. Take care,” she says, patting his bicep as she passes by.

Mulder smiles goofily. “Good night, sweetie,” he says, looking at his arm as he staggers to his couch.

Scully turns around, “What did you say?”

He may be drunk, but he’s not stupid. Mulder rolls over to his side, “ ‘Night, Scully,” he mumbles.

Needless to say, even though they were each in their own apartments, they couldn’t stop dreaming of each other that night.

THE END


End file.
